Imagine entering a world where the most essential support system disappears when you’re barely old enough to understand the loss. For me, this happened at the age of six. Losing my mother to cancer was like losing a lifeline, and from that day, I began a life defined not by the privileges of family wealth, but by the absence of the nurturing, comforting bond that guides so many people.
Growing up without parent's guidance or support from my family forced me to find strength in solitude. In school, I watched as classmates attended extra classes and received tuition support, while I learned to tackle studies alone. For bread and butter, I started working young, taking on any odd job that would support me. I found myself working nights and studying in the early hours, squeezing in exams when I could, and sometimes, even pausing my education for years to help my family.
The grief I carry isn’t just about my mother’s passing; it’s the enduring loss of an ally and the absence of guidance. As I faced significant milestones alone—graduations, achievements—I felt the pain of her absence echo louder. Losing my best friend to cancer brought this grief back in sharp focus. People see me and my story, but what they don’t always realize is how much of it I’ve faced with silent endurance.
Yet, these losses have taught me resilience. I’ve learned to build my emotional armor, finding ways to cope in the absence of traditional support systems. I’ve spent countless nights pouring thoughts onto paper, journaling to understand and release the hurt. And I’ve sought comfort in the few people who, like me, know what it’s like to lose something essential.
Being independent from a young age also meant becoming financially independent, not by choice but by necessity. I had to learn budgeting, managing expenses, and tackling emergencies alone. These skills didn’t come naturally; they came through trials and errors that tested my patience and resolve. My journey has been about learning as I go, facing each day with the reality that I don’t have the backup others might have.
Despite the challenges, each milestone has become my own. I’ve found ways to celebrate these moments, honoring both my struggles and achievements, while cherishing the memories of those I’ve lost. For me, moving forward means remembering them and, in a way, living for them.
In a society that places a heavy emphasis on family, I’ve sometimes felt a subtle stigma for not having parents by my side. People’s questions and assumptions can be painful reminders of what’s missing. Over time, though, I’ve discovered that support doesn’t always come from family—sometimes, it’s the kindness of strangers, the steadfastness of friends, and the shared experiences that make us feel less alone.
For anyone facing a similar journey, know that life without parents is undeniably hard. But it’s also a path that builds incredible resilience. I stand today not only for myself but also for the memories of my mother, my friend, and those who shaped me in ways they never knew. I believe in honoring the struggle, cherishing the support I do have, and being grateful for what others might overlook: a meal, a place to sleep, or just someone who cares.
What I’ve learned is simple but profound: Life without parents brings unique challenges. Yet, this experience has shown me that we have the power to rebuild family through friendships, mentors, and the kindness we encounter. Embrace what you have; never forget that what you hold today might be a distant dream for someone else. And most of all, keep going—because strength is often found in the journey itself.
Some people are like air, surrounding you, filling the void, bringing life and lightness. They are like oxygen, quietly making sure you don’t drown in your own struggles. They’re there selflessly, not demanding acknowledgment, reminding you not to forget your jacket, or pushing you to let go and feel the sun. They’re your FCO—Fog Clearance Officer—blowing away dark clouds on a sunny day and standing by your threshold when a storm arrives.
And if all of this makes you feel special, it’s because you are. Yet sometimes, we assume this connection is ours alone, a love that’s singular. But these people—their kindness is like air; it’s freely given to everyone. You can’t possess or hold them; when you try, you lose. Air changes with place, with height, but its presence is always felt. And sometimes, when you move on, it’s okay to breathe in something fresh and new.
I’ve changed, too, and I will never be the same. I can no longer compromise my own rest to meet everyone else’s needs, only to find that when I’m the one in need, people may not be there. I used to silence my pain to make others comfortable, ignoring my own turmoil. But now, if something brings me distress, I will speak up. I’m not insisting that everyone understand, but I hope they’ll meet me halfway, as I’m willing to do for them.
These changes might seem like less to some, but they are everything to me. I’ve learned my limits the hard way. There was a time when I lost myself completely, giving all my strength to others. Now, I love myself enough to know I need to preserve my own energy. My kindness has no bounds, but my energy does. Like anyone else, I get tired and worn down.
Sometimes, I feel I have to remind people of this truth: I’m human. I also get drained. As much as I want to be there for everyone all the time, sometimes I need to step back and rescue myself. My absence from others’ lives is a choice to be present in my own. If I can’t be there for someone, please don’t see it as a sign of my character; understand it may be because life is equally hard for me in that moment. Choosing myself isn’t selfish; it’s the result of realizing how deeply I need to protect my own well-being.
Now, I cherish even the smallest efforts from others. I no longer see them as the bare minimum because I understand those gestures might be all they can offer. They may have poured out the last bit of energy, positivity, or kindness they have left. We don’t always know what it costs someone to show up, and I appreciate these moments. The tiniest acts can come from people barely holding on, who may need a hand themselves but still reach out to help.
I’m learning to recognize these limits—in myself and others—and to honor them. This self-care is a new chapter in my life, not a betrayal of others but a fulfillment of something I have long neglected. I’m not asking for much, only for understanding, just as I try to understand others. Life has taught me that while kindness may be boundless, human energy is not.
I'd actually stay, if I only felt I was needed and loved.Because I used to find it hard to leave things behind, for I knew what it felt like to be abandoned—and I don't want anyone to ever be on the same shoes I was wearing. I'd really hold myself back and remain on the situation, if my hand was just being held tighter when it was slipping away; if I had just seen the loneliness you might feel once I am not around you, I'd choose to be on your side still. I'd even fight destiny if we ended up not being the ones made for each other, I'd do it—I'd turn the world on our side if it was against us; I'd even talk to the universe and beg it just so it could help us write our story on the stars. I'd move a mountain or cross a sea, just so I could prove this love I have. I'd do these things, if I only felt I was needed and loved.Sadly, I wasn't.
If you only knew what it took me to be this strong, you won't want to be on my shoes and be envious of me.
It took a lot of pain and agony to overcome to be here—that when life threw to me my share of its greatest torments, I really wanted to stumble and totally fall, because I wanted to give up already, if I was just being selfish. It took a long while for me to finally find my balance again, and never let anguish and grief to knock me down. I had also lost genuine people in this journey, prior to reaching this phase—cut ties, outgrew somebody else, some I even needed to take as if they never existed in my world, just so the sadness they inflicted won't have a hold on me anymore.
I am this brave now because I've been through a lot already. There's this part of me that hopes that I am done with my fair share of this life's melancholy—but then the other half says, those might just be preparations for the upcoming misery along the way. Either way, whether I am all prepped up or not, I know it will still be the same–I will still be in pain, I will need to heal all over again.
Peel my oranges for me, and I will peel your shrimps for you.
And if you ever find yourself lacking things to offer in this love we have, I will fill it up to make it whole. In times when you feel weak, I will be the strong one to shelter us from this cruel world we are in—because I know you will do the same thing. And if you see yourself getting lost in this universe, come and run to me, I will welcome you home. And this is how our love will go on and stay. If you can't give it your fifty, I will make up for it to turn it into a hundred. I know ours isn't just about rotation on who can give this and that—this is more of reciprocation of everything we have.
Shower me with your all, and I will offer my everything back.
I appreciate those who offer their presence as my safe space in this cruel world— Those who allow me to be on my weakest state when I am with them, and let me cry the tears I can no longer keep within. I cherish those who accepts me whole-heartedly, especially on times that I feel incomplete, or worst, empty.
Everybody needs someone like this to lean on to, for life is too harsh at times; people need someone who will understand that we also want to just be vulnerable, we are hurt, and we also feel tired.